Holding Onto You For Dear Life
by CollideInvisibleLips
Summary: Albus misses Scorpius and Scorpius misses Albus, yet, neither one has the energy or courage (in some cases) to go talk to the other. / slash / AlScor / Title from the song Sink or Swim by Lewis Watson. Not very angsty, just a touch.


**Author's note: **Ok, this is my first oneshot in general, but also my first time writing in this pairing, so I'd appreciate it if you reviewed it completely, 100% honestly, bc I would love to know what I do wrong or right. Or, don't review. Whatever floats your boat, you feel. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this, ily. c:

Longest thing I've ever written, chapter-wise, so I'm a bit proud of this. oh and thanks to my lovely Betas: Deja, Emma, and Nayha. c:

* * *

Not many people know what they have until it's gone, and it's the same that goes for Albus Potter. All his life, he had thought that he was nothing. He made himself believe that he was but a worthless prat with a famous last name. Albus wasn't intelligent and interesting – like Hugo had been. He wasn't good-looking and athletic – like James most assuredly was. He wasn't even likeable – like Rose undeniably was. He was just Albus. Nothing special, really. And it didn't help that he'd been sorted into Slytherin, _who knows why._

Perhaps, he thought, the hat had realized he wasn't brave enough to be a Gryffindor. Albus sure knew so. He most definitely was _not _smart enough to be a Ravenclaw; he could barely manage to scrap an A on his OWLS. Maybe he should have gotten sorted into Hufflepuff, but how utterly _pathetic _would that be? James would tease him for months on end like he had to Lucy, but maybe that would have been better than being _shunned. _Imagine; shunned by your own flesh and blood for a full _three months, _all because of some silly, raggedy old hat's decision! But, at least he wasn't the laughing stock of his family.

He was _only_ the black sheep of the Potter-Weasleys. Surely, it was not _that _big of a deal. Even Lily Luna was buying into it all, and she had _always _been nice to him before. But that's what it was; _before. _

Maybe the sorting hat had decided to sort him into Slytherin to keep the last shred of dignity he may or may not have still possessed intact.

Or maybe it just would have looked better for him.

"_if it really matters to you, the sorting hat will take your choice into account. It did for me." _His father said to him. In that moment, his eyes looked so honest and trusting, Albus had believed him for a moment.

But then, he hadn't. Why else would he have been placed in Slytherin?

The memory still made him flinch, oh, how naïve he'd been just so long ago! So much false hope. So much promise, such _longing _to be _accepted._

It was ironic; all he'd actually wanted were friends; _plural. _He wanted people to laugh with, people to share secrets with, people to _love _him and people to _accept _him. He wanted to feel special; like he was actually a part of something. That was all. That was it.

He hadn't wanted Scorpius. Sweet, innocent, caring Scorpius. The Scorpius no one actually expected him to be. He was too quiet, too sweet, too nice, too – _not Albus. _He was everything a Slytherin, or even a Gryffindor, was not. But he was always there, and that was what counted. He was there to dry his tears in the still darkness of their isolated dormitory. He was there to kiss away the lifelessness when there was none of it there left. He was there to breathe him, to make him feel like something that could quite possibly have been _alive. _Almost as if he were loved, as if he were cared for, as if he were, well, _special. _Scorpius made him feel like that and there wasn't a thing in the world he wouldn't do to have it all back.

But it was all his fault. Just when he thought things were going his ways, he realized – they were the going in the exact opposite direction he'd ever wanted them to, and if he could, he'd go back and change it all. He'd be Albus Potter – not quite the Boy-Who-Lived, but the boy who maybe, just maybe, might have had a chance at happiness if he'd just opened up those beautiful green eyes of his.

But of course, he hadn't. Albus had done this to himself and that was why he was sitting here in the solitary darkness of the quidditch pitch at a quarter after one with his mind swimming from all the whiskey he wasn't actually quite used to yet and his little button nose stinging from the smoke of his cig that he refused to put down. He knew that if he got up, he would find Scorpius, and he knew the things that would come tumbling out his mouth weren't things he wanted his ex-best friend know about him just yet. They were the sort of things that one might have heard late at night, three in the morning perhaps, a troubled soul, mumbling to itself in its sleep. At three am, that was when the truth came out. And at three a.m., that was when the stars finally aligned themselves, and everything was set in motion again. The corrupted clockwork; removed of its defective gear. Perhaps it was just the alcohol, but for the first time in a while, Albus had admitted it to himself. He needed Scorpius a lot more than he'd like to make himself believe.

* * *

Scorpius Malfoy always knew. He'd known it since the moment he'd lain his doe-grey eyes on Albus Severus Potter. The green-eyed boy with the unruly hair and the adorable little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes - he wasn't here to stay. He was scared. He was lost. He was confused. And those confused often ended up hurting the ones scattered around them. The ones who were there to help. The ones who _wanted _to help, but just didn't know how. Scorpius knew. He knew all too well.

Some may say he was just setting himself up for heartbreak, but the way Scorpius saw it, he was just enjoying something while it still lasted. _"Don't ever regret something if it once made you smile." _That was a muggle quote, wasn't it? Scorpius thought so. He was trying so hard not to regret it, trying so hard to think of all the happy times, the times when he used to smile so hard he was sure that the smile itself would crumble up fall off of his face, but then he realized, _what happy times? _Scorpius and Albus's time together was desperate and rushed and just overall, _a disaster waiting to happen. _There was a particular passage from a certain book that he had read, and it had always seemed to resonate with him regarding Albus and Scorpius's relationship.

_ "Was it hard,_

_letting go?"__  
"Not as hard as holding on to something that wasn't real."_

Because that's exactly what Scorpius had been doing, wasn't it? He was holding on to something that wasn't real, and he was simply just too selfish to let go. In the end, Albus had done it, and the young Malfoy couldn't decide whether he was relieved or just flat-out disappointed.

He was almost sure of it – what they had – it was _magical_. He thought it had been _extraordinary. _He thought it had been … real; like they were important, like that _meant _something. But it seems as if Scorpius had thought wrong. They was nothing unique about them anymore. It was the typical teenage love story that kids these days were just thirsty to angst over. Boy meets boy. Boys fall in love. Boy leaves boy for someone better, and Boy is alone again.

Scorpius had tried, believe him, he had, but after a while, it was all too much.

His best friend was making a place for himself, and there he was; happy, accepted, content almost, for the first time in his life. Just like he'd wanted. Albus had dimples, had Scorpius ever noticed that? No, he hadn't. For once, he was smiling, and Merlin, the mutual thought was, why couldn't he just be _happy _for him? Those nights, those lovely wonderful nights when Scorpius was his shoulder to cry on, where they would both steal desperate salt-tinged kisses underneath the covers of the cheap ghastly army-green covers, the moonlight their only guide. Their only company. Those nights when it would be them, and only them; they were gone.

Albus wasn't his anymore, but Scorpius was still Albus's, he knew. He knew, each time he saw him, laughing with without him, experiencing the joy and happiness that he was never able to give him. It shook him straight to the core of his bones, pierced him straight through his shattered heart, and he absolutely _hated _it. He _hated _that he still loved him, but what was there to be done? Tell his heart to just … stop? It wouldn't work, he knew it wouldn't. He was incorrigible. Albus was being swallowed up the crowd that surely ready to sweep him away from him and Scorpius just couldn't bear look for him any longer. He was tired of the chasing. Scorpius had been left behind just when he wasn't needed anymore, like an unwanted toy, abandoned by the child that had inevitably grown out of it.

_I guess we don't matter anymore, _Scorpius thought. _But looking back, did anything ever?_

_Yes, _he thought determinedly. It mattered, but that only made it hurt all the more.

And here he was, sitting at the top of the Astronomy tower, waiting for the wave of nostalgia to hit him hard, just as he knew it eventually would. It would be filled with first, lasts, and practically everything in between, he knew.

Scorpius knew a lot that night.

The first time they kissed; fifth year, Albus has been crying, quietly at night, when he hoped no one would be awake to listen to it. Scorpius tossed and turned but he just couldn't fall asleep anymore. Not with the sounds of muffled sniffles and sobs echoing in their dormitory.

Albus had received a letter; Hugo had fallen ill, and there was little the healers could do to help him. That morning at breakfast, James, still bitter over his brother's sorting, brushed past him and muttered softly so only he could hear, _it should have been you._

Of course, he hadn't meant it. James was rash, pig-headed, and more than a little stupid. He didn't think about what came out of his mouth before it did. But either way, he had still said it, and _t__hat _had broken Albus.

Ever so quietly, Scorpius got up out of bed, and approached him from behind. Hesitantly wrapping his hands around the frail-looking boy, he felt him tense. Turning around and peeking up at him from beneath his tear-laden eyelashes, he looked into his eyes for a moment, and just collapsed into sobs again, clinging onto Scorpius's shirt and pulling him down onto the bed with him.

"Ssh, don't cry." Scorpius had whispered, trying to soother him. He hadn't cared right then. He'd just wanted to go back to sleep.

"C'mon, Potter." He said desperately when the boy wouldn't stop. "You'll be okay, mate."

"It'll be alright, Albus." The name felt weird on his tongue, Foreign, almost. He wasn't used to it. It had always been "Potter" before then, but he thought he liked it. He really, truly, did. And maybe that's when he started caring.

It'd taken so long, lusting after each other years on end, and here they were, together at last, and ever so sweetly, Scorpius lifted the fragile boy's chin, looking into his gorgeous sea-green eyes. He hadn't known what he was doing.

It was three in the morning, and just like every time, three in the morning was when the truth came out. And suddenly they were kissing, and suddenly, Albus pulled back, and suddenly, he was crying again. Sobs wracked his thin body, Scorpius felt each one as if it were his own as his arms were wrapped around Albus's small frame.

After a while, he stopped, and Scorpius wiped the younger boy's tears, and they both snuggled up into the covers, surrounded by the scent of each other. Mint, Scorpius remembered. Albus always smelled like mint. Not that kind that made your nose sting and your eyes water, but the kind that made you smile your face into the lines that you never knew were there. The kind that you just wanted to inhale so deeply, it'd stay with you forever, tucked into a velvet-wrapped box, right at the back of your mind where you could always reach it. And it did. Scorpius remembered, and Merlin, he wanted it more than ever.

God, he was fucked.

* * *

Two am and Albus was still at the pitch, still lying on the cold hard ground, still smoking that same old cigarette, still drinking from that same old bottle of firewhiskey that his fingers fumbled to clutch the right way, still drunk, still _hurting. _

Two am and still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Scorpius was

_g_

_ o_

_ n_

_ e. _

Millions of different fragmented memories flooded his already muddled head. He could almost feel the press of his soft pink lips against his, his safe, delicate fingers running themselves through his hair. He could smell the cologne that he always wore; it smelled like vanilla and oranges. Vanilla and oranges so overwhelming in his head, he could feel his nose stinging, and then, there were tears. Albus felt them running their salty course down his already-stained cheeks, and then he realized. His nose had watered because he had been about to cry. Scorpius wasn't really there. He couldn't really smell his cologne. He couldn't really feel fingers in his hair. He used to think he felt numb, but now his chest hurt far too much for that be true.

Albus screamed in between his sobs, the blunt falling out of his mouth, and everything faded into a dark cloud of desperation and the smoke of the cigarette that he had forgotten to put out.

Everything was falling apart. It had been, for quite a long time.

* * *

Slowly Albus opened his eyes, trying to make sense of the pounding headache he felt, but then he realized, he wasn't under the bleachers anymore. He wasn't at the quidditch pitch. He wasn't angsting (is that a word?) over Scorpius, or drinking firewhiskey that he didn't know how to handle yet, or coughing smoke because of the cigarettes he'd never bothered to try before.

He was lying down on a couch in the common room, a blanket that smelled faintly of certain type of cologne draped gently over him.

It was Scorpius, it had to be.

"Awake?" Scorpius came descending the stairs that led to the boys' dormitories, although it was more of a statement, rather than a question. He purposefully avoided eye contact, and really, Albus didn't mind.

Much.

Shrugging, he didn't answer, deciding that two could play at that game, however, Scorpius didn't like that very much.

"Are you fucking stupid, Al?" he snapped. "You could have _died."_

Again, Albus shrugged.

"You idiot! You almost killed yourself and burned down half the school with you! Really, Al? I don't even fucking _know-"_

_"_And why the hell do you care so much?" Albus lost it. "I don't bloody deserve _any _of this. You should have left me out there, so why in the name of Merlin's saggy left-"

Scorpius interrupted him, letting out a dry, brittle laugh.

"You know what, I _should _have left you out there-"

"Alright then," Albus said lamely, getting up and feeling a bit hurt, even if he was the one that had suggested it first.

"I wasn't finished, dipshit." Albus raised an eyebrow, sitting back down and crossing his arms over his chest. "I _should _have left you out there," Scorpius repeated, "but I didn't, because I love you, you stupid wanker." he said the last part softly, and Albus turned away.

He was right. He _didn't _deserve _any _of this.

"When I saw the fire from the astronomy tower, I thought it was just a bunch of stupid fifth years, experimenting or whatever, but then I got there, and I saw all that smoke and the flames, and you looked so tiny laying there, I just-" Scorpius broke off for a moment. "I thought you were _dead, _Albus. I thought I wasn't there in time to save my best friend." He whispered.

"Am I?"

"Sorry?"

"Am I still that?" Albus asked. "Your best friend, I mean. Afterwhat I've done to you, I don't-"

"Don't even say you don't deserve it because we both bloody know there are people out there worse than you. It's-"

"Yeah Scor, but _still. _I was an ass. And I'm sorry, it was just-"

Scorpius cut him off again, engulfing him into a hug, practically falling on top of him on the couch. "I know, Al, I know." he murmured into his dark hair. "It's okay, I forgive you."

Albus let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"It's okay," Scorpius repeated sofly.

Albus didn't reply, just clung tighter to the beautiful blond-haired boy with the silver-moon eyes and breathed in his lovely scent. Scorpius always smelled like vanilla and oranges. And there they were, vanilla, oranges, and peppermint, mingling together in the stuffy air of the dungeon that was their common room, and nothing else mattered anymore.

And they just held on, not caring about a thing, clutching onto each other for dear life, and hoping that neither would ever have to let go.

* * *

**wow ok I like totally ruined that ending. I think I might just add another chapter, same exact thing, but alternate ending because im not really satisfied. anyway thanks for reading. c: Reviews are cool, too. c; **


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